Friday, January 28, 2005
BILL, THE MUTTERER
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Bill was another messenger who refused to help sort the mail. When not driving, he stood in the corner of the mailroom farthest from the work area, faced the wall, and muttered. The muttering was on the order of: "Told him, told him, fucking motherfuckers. Fuckers can't tell me fuck fuck fuck...."
Bill's getup was another cause for concern. He dressed like a train engineer on the skids. Blue cap, striped shirt, overalls, all filthy. He had red hair which stuck out from under his cap in greasy clumps.
He'd been working there longer than everyone but Archie; no one knew if he'd been like that when he was hired, or if driving for the bank had done it to him.
from here
Bill was another messenger who refused to help sort the mail. When not driving, he stood in the corner of the mailroom farthest from the work area, faced the wall, and muttered. The muttering was on the order of: "Told him, told him, fucking motherfuckers. Fuckers can't tell me fuck fuck fuck...."
Bill's getup was another cause for concern. He dressed like a train engineer on the skids. Blue cap, striped shirt, overalls, all filthy. He had red hair which stuck out from under his cap in greasy clumps.
He'd been working there longer than everyone but Archie; no one knew if he'd been like that when he was hired, or if driving for the bank had done it to him.
from here
